Vagrant
by Dunno12345
Summary: The choosing ceremony is today, but I don't know what I want. Do I want peace? Intelligence? Selflessness? Do I want bravery? Honesty? But then the answer comes to me, unbidden, and I know. I want freedom. This story is also available on Wattpad but it wasn't getting much exposure, so... (Note: I don't own this setting, that is Veronica Roth.)
1. Chapter 1

I sit in the back row, slouched down, as if that will keep my name from being called. I don't even want to look at the stage, my stomach is in such knots and I expect some of the kids to show some outward signs of their nervousness, too, but to my surprise, very few look daunted. Some seem hesitant. Others look overly eager. But there are some that just look confident, as if they've known their decision all along.

Maybe they have.

Maybe for them, the choice is easy.

I glance over at my father who beams back, but my eyes linger on his brightly colored clothing, feeling heat well up in my face. , he just beams back, smiling as if nothing is wrong.

Huh. I guess I don't show my nervousness either.

But I feel it, stirring in my gut and through every muscle, making me tense. My hands sweat until it feels like I'm holding handfuls of water and I wipe them off on my red shirt.

I take a deep breath.

"Matleson, Shaun."

I watch as an Eruite boy stands and walks up to the stage, grabbing the knife and holding his hand above the stones.

You can tell who his parents are. Not because he sat next to them, but because of the broken faces, their loss as vivid and stark as the blue shirts they wear.

I look away, wringing my fingers in my lap.

I wonder if my dad thinks I'm going to stay with him. He said he's confident I'll pick what I feel is right, even if that means choosing a different faction but I have no idea what right is.

My test came back as Amity and people say to trust the test, but something seems off. Everyone sounds so sure, it would seem, about where I should be except me. Even the administator hadn't given me a look of surprise; it had been expected.

I wrinkle the lining of my shirt, hoping my name won't be the next one called.

"Mitt, Diane."

My relief is short-lived as I watch the girl go up. She _does_ look scared, I think I can see her hands trembling and she takes longer, debating.

Finally she stretches her hand over the glass.

They clap as she returns, sitting back down in her seat, but her face looks perplexed.

I grimace, doubting her decision. Did she do it because it felt right or because she decided she was too scared to move beyond her borders of familiarity?

I squeeze my eyes shut and breathe slowly through my mouth, trying to relax.

"Monroe, Arya."

My stomach tightens. It tightens so much, I resist the urge to bend at the waist when I stand, nearly tripping as I start to walk down the steps.

The time it takes to reach the stage passes slowly, and yet too quickly and I subconsciously search the crowd for my dad, but I only feel a weight settle over my nerves when I spot him.

I take the knife.

He told me to make the right decision, whether that be with him or somewhere else, but none of them feel right. I look at the glass, thinking not of honesty, but the brutality the Candor wield with their honesty.

I glance at the water and try to picture myself in blue but the image doesn't form. Besides, I know I can't dedicate myself to living the majority of my life behind textbooks.

The bowl to the end holds the coals and it takes me awhile to decide if I am brave. I think we all have the potential to be brave, but I don't want to live based on the principle of becoming it more so. Solely, my bravery does not define me, just as my selfless acts alone do not define me.

That leaves the bowl of dirt.

I don't know how long it has been, but someone clears their throat irritably and the hilt of the knife suddenly seems to weigh more than I am capable of lifting.

I stare into the bowl, raising the knife with whatever strength I have left and cutting a painful line through my palm. I close my hand over the wound.

I'm for peace, but I can't refrain from conflict when someone is in the wrong. Do I really want to live my life within these limits? The same limits I was raised to value yesterday? The same limits I will continue to value tomorrow?

My vision blurs. I ask myself what I want.

Do I want honesty? Intelligence? Selflessness? Do I want bravery?

Do I want peace?

And then, the answer comes to me. It hits in a sudden wave and I realize why it's been such a struggle to decide. It's the only thing I want and yet the only thing no faction provides.

I want freedom.

before I fully register what I'm doing, I hold out my hand. Not over bowls of dirt or coal, but over the floor.

I flex my hand, watching as one single drop of blood falls and when it hits, my decision is made.

"I choose no faction."


	2. Chapter 2

The auditorium is silent. I could almost hear a pin drop until finally, the leader of the most prominent faction, Abnegation, stands up.

Markson Larder.

"You cannot do that," he says, but his voice holds no conviction; no resolution. I doubt this has even happened before.

"I have," I reply, my voice trembling just slightly. I don't look at my dad. I don't look at the crowds of people, staring at me in amazement and confusion. I don't look at the floor that contains a drop of my blood.

I just look at Markson, and wait for him to contradict me again.

He doesn't. He just continues to look at me, his framed, brown eyes narrowing into mine, as if waiting for me to take it back, but I don't.

"You can't undue this," he whispers, shaking his head just slightly, concerned. But I know what I want. It's so simple. So delicate. So rare that the only places to find it are in the dire circumstances they thrust on the factionless. They are poor, yes, but not unintelligent people. In my opinion, they are the bravest because they will never belong to one majority.

I step down from the podium.

"Come with me, then," Markson says. "I will...have someone gather a few of your things and you'll be on your way."

And that's it. My time in Amity is done. My time as having a faction is over.

I resist the urge to look back as I walk toward the doors.

I will never have a faction again.


	3. Chapter 3

The first thing I notice is the smell. It wafts down alleyways, narrow places between buildings, in open spaces. It's the tang of old clothes and sweat, traces of smoke lingering on skin. People are huddled in clusters. Some appear older, others younger. I catch a few older men lying, asleep on wadded blankets, covered with crude scraps, like a mismatched blanket. In a corner, I see two people around my age dressed in black, a desperate look etched onto their faces.

"Good luck," The man who Markson sent to help me says, handing me a bag. It's stuffed with articles of my clothing and nothing more. My heart hammers in my throat as I watch him leave. Then he's gone.

I turn back around, toward the strangers, feeling their questioning gazes. Their beady eyes stray to my clothes, one that clearly identify my faction, and they smirk. "The Amity finally throwin' people out?" one man I thought was asleep asks.

I don't say anything. I just continue to stand there awkwardly, staring back at those that continue to stare at me.

"Must've done something bad," another says. My eyes land on another man, maybe a few years older than me, his eyes roving up and down. The look makes me uncomfortable.

"Really, what'd you do?" he snickers. "Throw a punch?"

I find my voice then and shake my head. "No."

"Start an argument?"

"No."

"Kill somebody?"

"What? No." My eyes widen, but he just shrugs. "I didn't do anything."

"Then why are you here?" the man makes it sound like an accusation.

I grimace at his clothing, once white, made brown. I should have guessed a Candor. His past is tangible when he speaks, all truth, no precision.

"Why are_ you_ here?" I ask, deflecting. In Amity, I'm not supposed to pry into another person's business. But I am not Amity anymore.

The stranger scoffs, a lock of brown hair falling across green eyes. A corner of his lip pulls up in a mock half-smile. "Got overly mouthy with the leaders. Started making personal suggestions." Another shrug. "Let's just say, I didn't heed their warnings."

"Well, that was careless," I say, dropping my bag and sitting down. There are no rules with the factionless. There's no place I'm supposed to be and I revel in the fact that I can sit here and do this, claim this small victory, even if no one from my faction is here to see it.

"I think I cared too much," he says with a smirk.

"How'd a pretty little thing like you get thrown out so quickly anyway?" A different person inquires, this time a woman. She stands in one of the clusters, head turned towards me. Her clothes are even less distinguishable, but I can tell with her blonde hair and blue eyes, she could be beautiful.

"The Choosing Ceremony is today, is it not?"

Slowly, I nod. For some reason, I don't want to tell her. I don't want them to know I chose this because then it makes it sound like their lifestyle is easy. I mean, how many of them would gladly have taken Amity over nothing? How many have regretted making their mistakes? After living like this, will my choice become a mistake, too?

"Yes, it is today. I don't-" I stop talking.

"Hilda, let the girl wrap her head around this. She's just been practically exiled," a man says next to her. Friend or husband, I can't tell. "Luckily for you, you got put in a nicer part of the factionless. There are real brutes out there you know." His words are directed at me and the thought sends a shiver up my spine but I ignore it.

I bet it's why Markson sent someone to escort me. Into a more-ironically-peaceful part of the factionless. This is a perk for him being an old family friend of my dad's.

_My dad. _

I suddenly can't swallow, like my throat closes up. I wonder what he's doing. What he's thinking. What he's feeling. Is he ashamed? How could he not be?

I shove the thought away before my eyes can tear up.

"It's all right, Darlin,'" the same lady-Hilda- says again. "You'll get used to it eventually.

Eventually. The word holds an infinity inside it. Something with resolution. but little reassurance. I wring my hands together, cross my legs. I wipe off my shirt from the collecting dust-anything. I got what I wanted-freedom. But now that I have it, I don't understand what to do with it.

"It makes it easier to forget," Hilda calls again, waddling over to me and sitting down. She makes an irritable noise at the effort, but manages a smile. Close up, I can see the wrinkles that line her face, but I'm focusing on her eyes, bright blue and flecked with brown. "Forget the life you led before this, the people you left. It's easier to move on when you pretend there's almost nothing holding you back."

I take in her words. I don't think I'll be able to forget. My father? No way. But what I can do is stop wondering if the decision I made had been the right one. It's done, whether that be right or wrong, I can't take it back. My fate solidified as soon as that drop of blood had hit the ground.

I nod.

"And just for a heads up, I wouldn't let your curiousity overrule your judgement. Wandering around these parts isn't always safe," she says, furrowing her brows as if imagining the possibilities. "It was smart of your friend to bring you here."

I'm not really surprised. I never assumed freedom meant a safer environment. Freedom threatens the faction system exactly for that reason, because people have the right to choose. The right to free will. I'd waged the worth of freedom with danger against safety with security, trying to figure out which is worse.

The faction system offers safety, yes, but it also offers ignorance. It wraps people in a neat little box, topped with a bow and label, and they're taught never to not go beyond its borders. Never go outside of them.

Now I've broken out of that little box and so far, these are the results. But what will be the consequences?


	4. Chapter 4

There are children here, too.

I don't know why this surprises me, but it's almost surreal to watch kids playing down the alleyways with a dented ball, their mothers screaming at them to not wonder off too far. On instinct, I look for the colors on their clothes, but stall myself and remember they won't have any. They've never been in a Faction. Never will be.

It almost makes me sad that _children _have to live in poor conditions, around dangerous places, but I guess that's just how it is now, here. I guess this is their normal.

Hilda tells me the best places to rest. Desolated, broken buildings, isolated corners. It doesn't exactly make me feel secure, but I have to remind myself I knew the threats before I decided this.

"The larger buildings are generally claimed by the rebels." She says it calmly, matter-of-fact.

I narrow my eyes, suddenly feeling uneasy. "Rebels?" Sure, I didn't figure people always follow rules out here, but to know that there are also divisions outside of the Factions, too? This _does_ come as a surprise but I don't understand why.

Hilda just nods. "Rebel activity is not something they share knowledge about in the Factions? Why would you expect them to?"

I wouldn't have expected. But because the factions aren't informed, doesn't mean the problem ceases to exist. We just apparently go on without thinking there's one in the first place.

I just shrug in response. "What are they?"

"Troublemakers," she says. "Disrupters. Hard on making things harder here to get attention from there. Many of 'em want the leaders to see they can do damage in the hopes of taking 'em back."

I resist the urge to scoff. "They don't take anyone back, regardless of prior status or present predicament."

"Well don't you just sound like a handbook."

I purse my lip.

"Don't think I use the term 'troublemaker' lightly. Their activities aren't something to be underestimated. People have died because of them."

Her eyes are sad when they say this and I look away, twirling a strand of hair with my fingers, as if my hand is full of nervous tension. "And you haven't...tried to do anything?"

I don't think it's the right thing for me to say, because those eyes suddenly grow distant and narrowed, as if I've said something offensive. But before she can say anything, the man from earlier-the one around my age- laughs. It's a throaty chuckle, but comes out completely dry and he shoots me a smirk. "Now what do you suppose we do, Dove? Tell the pesky little rebels to stop their disruptions?"

I look straight at him. "No, just...something."

"Take a look at this, guys," he says, pushing off the wall he's been leaning against and motioning towards me. "How ironic. An Amity girl asking us why we haven't engaged in conflict. Doesn't that go against some instinct of yours?"

"I can see the ill-attempt to not be overly blunt goes against your own."

His eyes flash satisfyingly. "At least I know what I'm talking about. You on the other hand have been here, what, an hour? And already criticizing how we live, by a girl, coming from a place who was raised to resist conflict. Or, at least, minimize it."

"Just because they thought that way doesn't mean I do."

"Jared, stop antagonizing her, she means well," the older man who had called to Hilda earlier says, coming up and laying a hand on his shoulder. I see the-Jared's- jaw tighten visibly, hands clenched, but he concedes. He shrugs off the man's hand and saunters away. I'm relieved to see him go.

"Don't mind him," the man says, looking at me. His dark eyes linger on my face. "He's got a big mouth, but he already told you that."

I push a lock of dark hair behind my ear, nodding to myself.

"Many people here," he continues in a hushed tone, "don't see a point in fighting the rebels. For one, we're low on supplies. For another, few think anything useful will come of it. I mean what do we gain? More demolished sectors? More space? It's moot, if you ask me."

I see his point. I wish I could raise an argument against it, but there's nothing for me to go by. He's been here much longer by the looks of it, and knows the curcumstances, unlike I do. I don't even know why I said anything. My words are clearly not new and clearly unwanted.

"Do you all just...stay here?" I ask, hoping I don't sound offensive.

He shrugs. "We go where we please, but it doesn't mean someone else is all right with that."

My reply is cut by the sound of a growl, coming from the clouds in the distance. Bruises cover them over the horizon. I stand, brush off the dirt, but stop, thinking better of it. I have to find some shelter before the rain hits. "Thank you both," I tell them. She nods and the man cracks a smile, as if it's been awhile since he's heard those words.

"Don't go past the number nine," she says. "Used to be a parking...parking garage, I think it was, the number nine on the wall, don't go beyond it."

I stare at her for a moment before nodding once more.

I walk past the crowds of people around me, huddled together, some isolated, all staring in curiosity. My clothes suddenly seem to bright; too new and I glance in my bag; also bright clothing.

Well.

I guess they will lose their color in time. I can't tell how that thought makes me feel.

It takes me two hours of searching before I find a spot. It's a secluded floor in a fallen building, the others inhabited with factionless, but this one is seemingly vacant. I don't put my bag down, though.

I just stand there, looking around the broken room. The walls are crumbling, the ground potholed, other parts of it are completely eviscerated. Noises from the others waft up here, dull voices carried on heavy air and though they aren't distinguishable, I can't help hearing the word _future_ repeated over and over, as I stare into the desolate space.


	5. Chapter 5

The rain comes down in fits. It fours through the cracks of the room, drips down the walls, and pools in each corner. I stay huddled by the driest part of floor, ignoring the biting winds that chafe against my skin. I watch the sky through one of the broken walls, clouds decorated in dark shades of greys and blacks. Lightning skrikes over the hills.

I pull my sleeves over my hands and wrap them around my waist. I don't realize I'm crying until I feel something wet fall onto my shirt and think there's an opening above me. But it's just my own tears, blending with the rain, and I let them come.

I'm not crying because I'm here. I'm crying for what I left behind. My dad, whose face I probably won't see again. I think of the times he'd tuck me in bed and tell stories of mom to me. She left him and now I have, too and I pray it doesn't break him again.

But I think I'm crying because I know it will.

I wake to the sound of glass shattering. In the distance, shots echo off stone walls and I scramble to my feet, staring out at the hole in the room again. Below, I can see the vague outlines of people running, footsteps pounding through the rain. It's dark, the clouds hidden behind a veil of black, but fire burns in sheltered corners, illuminating parts of the alleyways. I find my way down the building, hands searching the crumbling cement, easing around through to the lower floor. It isn't much better here; Most factionless remain where they are, cowering inside this shell of a building. Not few venture out and I ignore the pang of fear that settles over me.

"What's happening?" I ask a woman, but I only receive a harsh "quiet" in reply.

I don't want to just stand here, dumbfounded. What if whatever these people are afraid of found them? Isn't it worse to be in a group? Instead, I follow the fissured and partly demolished walls, down the broken stairwell, and out of the building. I try to shield myself from the rain, but it finds its way through my shirt, dampening my clothes in seconds. My entire body is shivering by the time I reach the end of the alleyway, my mind trying to make sense of what's going on. I duck beneath shelters when I can. Every place close to the alleys appear abandoned.

I silently curse. It probably isn't a good sign when people have vacated the area. And I walked right into it.

I purse my lips, trying to see through rain and shadow.

That's when someone grabs me.

A hand latches onto my wrist and on instinct, I jerk it back, feeling a scream build, before the other clams over my mouth. My captor whirls me around and slams my back against a wall, slick with rain. I try to kick, desperate, but a rough hush stalls me. My terror freezes.

In the illumination coming from the fire in distant trash bins, I'm able to make out dark hair and green eyes staring into mine.

It's the man from Candor. Jared.

I try to say something, but he just shakes his head, giving me a stern look. Then I hear it-voices, splicing through the deluge, from people who aren't attempting to be quiet. Shouts ring out, deep hollering, and I try to swivel around to see, but the wall is against them and I'm against the wall. I listen, hearing them shout remarks I can't quite distinguish and I know, for some reason, that if we're found, it won't be good. There's a deafening crunch of something solid against brick, breaking glass, the clatter of trash bins being kicked. I remain as still as I can, too petrified to close my eyes and in that moment, I wish I'm back at Amity.

But the voices of the throng gradually fade, as they disappear down another alley.

I don't realize I'm holding my breath until I suddenly feel like I'm being choked, and nearly gasp for air. I pull weakly against the hands that still bind me.

Jared releases his bind and takes a step back, glaring from a foot away. I'm about to say something, but my voice falters. He interrupts me anyway.

"I didn't figure for an Amity to attract danger," he says, an edge to his voice. "So that idiotic move was all you, huh?"

"I didn't," my tone cracks. "I didn't know what was going on. I came to-"

"To get yourself killed? You know, there are less painful ways to go."

"I wasn't trying-"

"No, your instinct upon seeing people running one way was to wander in the opposite direction."

Anger blooms across my chest but I quiet it down, staring at him through the rain. I'm about to ask who those other men were, but I switch questions. "Why are you here, then?" I ask instead.

He scoffs, his brown hair looking black with the drops that drip down his forehead and runs a hand through it. "I was on my way out. Then I saw some girl walking down here and wanted to know who would be so moronic to do that. Honestly, I don't know why you weren't the first one to come to mind."

In the tension that surrounds us, I almost want to laugh at him using the word "honestly" before a sentence. Like a past Candor would be anything but. "It wasn't like I was going to walk up to them and ask for directions," I snap, twisting my hair around and twisting it of water. Not that it makes much of a difference, but my hands need a way to rid my body of the nervous energy. "You didn't have to help me."

"I might be mouthy, Dove," he says, a spark of irritation in his eyes. "But I'm not that cruel."

"Are those the rebels?" I say, switching topics. I nod to the street that the crowd had been on just a few minutes ago. "What could they possibly gain from terrorizing the factionless?"

"Power," he makes the word sound very small for something so big. "Control. In a world where you have none and your choices are very limited, you'd expect some to have control issues. A stark contrast to the Amity, I bet. They raise you to use words rather than fists. Let's he how far that gets you."

I glare at him. "I'm not my faction. It's not even mine anymore."

His lips turn up in a curious smile, like he's just divulged someone's secret. "You seem pretty insulted when I compare you to another Amity. Most here get defensive, live like they were still in their faction for awhile, but not you. Almost like you're glad not to be there anymore." He shrugs and leans against the opposite wall. "Doesn't sound like someone who's been kicked out."

"Yes, well," I try to think of something to say, but I draw up empty. I'm being careless and now this man has caught that. I settle on, "Why do you care?"

He smiles that same smile again. "I still have remnants of my nature and though my clothes are no longer white, my curiosity had been well preserved. So tell me," he adds. "Why are you here?"

I pull my wet shirt against me, trying to think of warm climates. "That's my business. Not yours."

"Nobody's business is anybody's business out here," Jared says.

"You already sound like you have it figured out." I attempt to keep the nervousness out of my voice. But he just crossed his arms over his chest, regarding me from the short distance. "Quitter? Maybe. Though I do find it interesting that you're out here on the day of the Choosing Ceremony. You really only get Dauntless here that shortly after. I didn't even know they could deny a citizen participation in the Choosing Ceremony. It makes me curious to know what you, this foolish girl from Amity, could have done to reap such a harsh punishment."

"We all have our stories."

"Yours doesn't fit." His voice is surely. "People come here broken. Yet, you seemed to be relieved. And I'm dying to know why."

I don't want to tell him. I really don't. Mostly, because I don't want to give him the satisfaction in knowing he's gauged me of my secrets. But also, I'm worried what he'd say if he did.

"You also had an escort," he continues. "A bag. Not many here get even that privilege. So I'm going to ask you once more," he takes that step back, erasing the space between us. He puts his hand just against the wall above my head, towering over me. "What did you do?"

"Nothing," I say, caving. It doesn't matter if he knows. Maybe I'll be better off relinquishing the truth rather than having him gauge it from me. I stare at him-hard. "I came out voluntarily."

To my satisfaction, he blanches. But then his surprise is masked and his smile widens, but his eyes turn dark. "Oh, you really are moronic. How'd you do that?"

"I chose no faction." I bite out the words, glancing away from his gaze. I'm worried he's going to do something but just as I think he's about to come closer, he pushes away and backs up.

"I wouldn't be so quick to tell that to anyone else here," he says. "People will take offense."

"I figured as much."

"What made you want to come out here?" I sense the curiosity brimming beneath his words.

"I wanted what the other factions couldn't give me." The words almost sound silly out loud, as I stand pressed against a wall, in the midst of danger.

"And what's that?"

"Freedom," I breathe. "The right to choose."

But he just shakes his head, looks at me almost incredulously, that smile now wiped from his lips. "What choices? Where you're going to sleep? What rations you'll get? How to make your bedroll?" Jared shakes his head again. "As for freedom, you won't find it here. There's nothing you'll find in the place that you'll want." His eyes go the rain and his back turns to me. "You made a mistake."


End file.
